Dean is so a Bottom
by Quixotic Cervantes
Summary: The unpublished "Winchester Gospels" can change even the most devoted Wincest shipper into a Destiel fan.


Dean is so a Bottom (And Other Fangirl Analyses by Becky Rosen)

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: I seriously don't own <em>Supernatural<em>. Not even sure I really want to anymore...

Warnings: This contains Becky! I feel this should be sufficient... Though if you haven't watched all of season 5 I would tread carefully.

**AN: I wrote this for the deancastiel Everlasting Birthday Challenge over on LJ back in June and just realized I never posted it here... ENJOY!**

* * *

><p>When Becky first stumbled upon Chuck's unpublished manuscripts of the "Winchester Gospels," her fangirl heart virtually exploded. She had eagerly read through the pages- that lurking question of exactly <em>how <em>Dean got out of Hell had been plaguing her since she'd met the two brothers.

Her vision of Sam epically finding a way to break down the gates of Hell and ride to the rescue on Cerberus _Hercules_-style was about half-right.

There _was_ breaking down of the gates of Hell, and it _was _epic. But there were no three-headed dogs, only blinding white light ripping demons to shreds. It also wasn't Sam, he was off making terrible choices (come on, Ruby is obviously a slut).

That was how Becky first learned of Castiel, the angel who Jossed her fanfics.

This was also how Becky decided that Sam may not be the best person ever- though she would still lick every inch of him. (Can you blame her? He has like...a 12-pack!)

The lingering glances, lack of personal space, and hand print _brand_ won her over. So, despite the fact that Sam and Dean are obviously canon soul-mates (which had made her Twitter for about three hours straight), Becky became a true supporter of Dean and Cas screwing each others brains out.

Cue Chuck crying for an entire day while Becky plotted against his sanity.

_"But Becky! What if I have to see it?"_

She sighed wistfully; if only _she_ was a Prophet of the Lord. She shot a dirty look to the pile of manuscripts. Text was fine, but if she had a choice between books and Technicolor, surround-sound, live action, she might consider selling her soul.

_Actually, that's not a bad idea._

Selling her soul to a demon might not be the smartest move, but she was willing to try compromising for the sake of there being more gay in the world.

Proving to be too much of a fan, she setup the demon summoning charm- in the middle of Chuck's living room, of course- and began chanting. But she had to pause when she realized she didn't know _which_ demon to summon.

There was always Meg, of course (And she means **always**- _how has that bitch never died?); _but she was kind of a psycho hose beast who, you know, _killed _people.

Ruby was dead.

Though it was never confirmed, she had a sneaking suspicion that Bela was probably a demon...but then, it was Bela.

Then an idea sprung up. _CROWLEY! _He was pretty much the gayest thing since...well...Dean in lederhosen.

So, she summoned the snarky bastard and bounced in excitement while she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

_What the hell?_She thought angrily, huffing when no demon appeared. She waited for half an hour before depression settled in and she realized she needed chocolate and her favorite fanfic to comfort her.

She left Chuck's house, leaving him passed out from drinking too much - he'd muttered something about preventative measures before cracking open a new Wild Turkey, and promptly ran into a man in a well-tailored suit.

"Would you mind telling me," he hissed before roaring "EXACTLY WHAT YOU WERE DOING SUMMONING ME TO A PROPHET'S HOUSE?"

She blinked. "Um..."

"Seriously, girl, you'd better have a good excuse or I swear you will regret even _thinking_ about summoning me."

"Are you," She began, voice slightly reverent, "Are you Crowley?"

The man rolled his eyes, "No, you imbecile, I'm the bloody tooth fairy. YES I'm Crowley. Now what do you want?"

Undeterred by his obvious disgust with her, she squealed, "Oooh, thank you so much for coming! I need your help!"

He sighed, "Obviously. So, what do you want? Wealth? Fame? A new wardrobe, perhaps?"

Unfazed by his insult, Becky said with intensity, "Dean Winchester and Castiel need to do it."

Crowley blinked. Then he smiled and mocked cleaning out his ear "I'm sorry, I could have sworn you just told me you want the older Winchester buffoon to 'do it' with his lapdog angel."

Becky just stared at him and nodded.

A vague look of disgust passed over Crowley's face. "Why on Earth would you want that?"

Becky was startled, "Have you seen them?"

Crowley appeared pensive for a moment before smiling evilly. "You, my dear, make a very persuasive argument."

It didn't take long for them to decide that it was going to be quick, dirty, and straight to the point. (Or points, Becky thought and allowed her lecherous mind to find this amusing for a moment.)

One lust spell prep-time later, they were camping outside the Winchester's latest motel room.

Apparently, spell-work was a lot like cooking. You had prep-time, set-time, cook-time, and then the delicious meal (read: interspecies-buttsex-with-questionable-consent-issues).

Becky was mildly concerned with how well she and Crowley seemed to be getting along- they hadn't even officially made a deal and yet he seemed fairly invested in this.

And he seemed to believe that this spell was all it would take to get them to bump uglies; Crowley had even promised that they'd get to watch. (She chose to ignore the delightful shiver that incited, preferring to stay on task and think about personal happy-times later.)

They had essentially stuffed Dean's pillow (the left one on the bed closest to the door- Becky had rambled off to Crowley's disgust) with the glittery pink powder that was their weapon of choice.

(Crowley had lovingly named the powder "Fairy Dust" in honor of the occasion; Becky hadn't argued.)

So now, they were waiting on the roof. Becky was sore, and tired, and just wanted to watch two hot guys make-out while frantically ripping each others clothes off- really, was that too much to ask?

"Why are we up here again?" She asked, rubbing her arms to try and keep warm.

Crowley heaved a world-weary sigh, "We are here because we still need to douse the angel with some of this blasted stuff." He pulled out an electronic tablet, "We also need to make sure the cameras are properly angled for our viewing pleasure."

Becky couldn't really argue with that, but it was getting late and dark, and she hadn't been on any of her forums all day!

The deep rumbling of the Impala filled the air and the black car drove into the parking lot, music blaring.

_Just like Chuck always described_, she sighed. She watched Sam and Dean exit and slam their doors shut, shouting at each other all the way to the room.

"Blast, I forgot about their moose." Crowley muttered under his breath, but before he could do anything, they heard a whooshing sound.

Becky turned and got her first real look at the angel Castiel. And _damn_, as much justice as Chuck may have done to the Impala he sort of fucked up here. This boy was _fine._

_If he's this intense in real life, I cannot _wait _to see what he does with Dean._

But he was definitely glaring. "Crowley, why are you here?"

The demon smirked and stood, walking to stand in front of Castiel. "Well if it isn't the Winchester's little attack dog."

Castiel stood straighter and Becky was mildly terrified. Blue eyes flash over to her and focused, confusion clouding them for a moment. "Rebecca Rosen. Why are you with this scum?"

Crowley tsked, "Scum? Really now, Castiel, we both know I'm the cleanest Hell has to offer."

Castiel's eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze back to Crowley, "Why are you here?"

Crowley smiled and held his hand up, blowing hard and sending a fist-full of "Fairy Dust" into Castiel's face.

He sputtered in surprise, actually sneezing a bit before clearing himself of most of the dust; though apparently his hair really is impervious to order, because it still sparkled with powder.

He took a menacing step forward and then paused. Becky could see his eyes widen and his chest move dramatically in an effort to catch his non-existent breath.

Crowley smiled, "Have fun now, Castiel. See you soon!"

With that, Becky found herself in the motel room, watching Dean who appeared to be in the same predicament as the angel up on the roof.

Crowley was over by Sam, telling him that if he didn't want to stab his own eyes out he'd best join them.

Sam seemed reluctant at first (he'd taken one look at Becky and suppressed a groan), but when Castiel popped into the room right onto Dean's lap, he knew the lesser of two evils.

They dropped Sam off at Bobby's and hooked the digital pad up to a giant TV Crowley had…located elsewhere.

By the time they finally got to start watching, shirts were off, pants were unzipped, and hands were pretty much everywhere.

Becky had never been happier to let go of a ship than while watching Dean and Cas screw. For about four hours- and sometimes in positions she didn't even know were _actually _physically possible!

At one point she thought she heard Crowley chuckle and say that "he knew Dean was a bottom," which, duh, Alpha male personality or not he was emotionally a kicked puppy who just wanted some loving.

But mostly she just let herself enjoy the uninterrupted sex happening in real-time before her very eyes.

When the show was over (read: the fucking had ended and now they were talking about "feelings"), Becky cleared her throat.

"So, do I get, like, ten years before you take my soul?"

Crowley wrinkled his nose, "Good God no! Consider this one on the house. That was fantastic!"

Becky was shocked, and must have looked rather stupid because Crowley once again sighed and snapped his fingers. When she looked around, she saw they were at Chuck's house.

She smiled, "Thank you so much, Crowley!"

He smirked, "Of course."

He turned and took a step before pausing and looking back. "Let me know if you get any good ideas for the moose. I wouldn't mind seeing if his arse looks as good as I think it does."

Becky blushed as he disappeared. She smiled and went up to Chuck's door, too geared up and horny to pay much attention to the desperate wailing that greeted her.

"Jesus, Becky! My eyes! My brain! There's not enough tequila in the world!"

She had stories to write.

Becky sat at her laptop and reflected on the whole experience, trying to remember every detail.

It was so much better than she could have imagined! Every bit as hot and steamy as the world's best porno; they looked like they'd rehearsed! Or at least had practice, _Maybe Castiel is a liar and isn't a virgin…maybe he just hasn't been with a woman!_

_Come to think of it,_ she tilted her head and concentrated, _they didn't seem to put up much of a fight. I would think even a lust spell could be battled off by an angel._

_"'You are not gonna die a virgin; not on my watch'…Dean slung his arm around Castiel's shoulder and pulled him closer, laughing…they drove back to the house for the night…the next morning, Dean stood watch outside Donnie Finnerman's room…"_

Her eyes widened. _Son of a bitch!_ Chuck was **so** not getting any for leaving **_those_** details out.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: First- thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoyed it! <strong>

**Second- if you love birthdays and Dean/Cas and haven't already done so, head on over to LiveJournal and join deancastiel and their fantastic Everlasting Birthday Challenge! :D  
><strong>


End file.
